The Mute and the Liar (48 page)

Mosquitoes
could
have
been
angels,
but
will
never
be,
for
the
simple
reason
that
angels
are
free,
but
mosquitoes
are
bound
by
the
laws
of
nature:
they have
to
pay for
their
blessings.

It's
just
the
same
as
how
power
costs
a
bitter
soul.
Or
how
silence
costs
loneliness.
Or
how life
costs death.

Everything has
a
price.

He's
falling.

Gently, softly.

Beautifully,
really.

There's
metal
hanging
over
him.

Metal
in
someone's
hands.

Metal
clatterers
to
the
ground.

The
stench
of
metal
reaps
the
air,
so
strong,
so
narcotic,
it's
slipped
past the
point
of
being
a
smell
and
has
become
a
taste.

But
maybe
it's
not
the
smell
of
metal.

No,
now
that
I
think
about
it,
there's
a
strong,
salty,
almost
solid
dimension
to
the
smell.

It's
not
the
smell of metal at all.
It's the smell of blood.

Why
did
you
let
him
try
to
help
you?

Why
did
you
let
Jayce
do
that?

Now
he’s
gone.

And
it’s
your
fault.

It’s
your
fault.

It’s
your
fault.

“
Happy
birthday
to
you,
happy
birthday
to
you…
”

*****

3rd
March
2011

10:15 AM

I
gasp
alive,
feeling
as
though
a
panther
has
just
leapt
on
my
chest.
Oxygen
shudders
through
my
ribs,
unexpected
and
sudden.
I
need
to
take
my
mind
off
of
Jeffrey.
I
could
hardly
sleep
last
night
because
I
kept
thinking
about
it.
And
now
I'm
dreaming
about
it
too.

They
have
probably
found
his
body
by
now.
Stop.
Don't
think
about
it.
Just
don't
think
about
it.

Unfamiliar
ceiling.
That's
all
I
can
take
in
from
my
surroundings.
Mocking,
unwelcoming,
unfamiliar
ceiling.
It
takes
me
a
good
few
seconds
to
notice
the
gangly
blonde
boy
sitting
hunched
and
cross-legged
next to me.

“
Happy
birthday
to
Alicia!
Happy
birthday
to
you!
”
he
sings
at
the
top
of
his
voice.

Happy
birthday.
He's
singing
happy
birthday.
Why?

It's
no
one's
birthday.
You
can't
just
sing
happy
birthday
when
it's
no
one's
birthday.
That's
got
to
be
bad
luck
or
something.
What
day
is
it
today?
Yesterday
was
the
second…
so
today
must
be
the
third.
..
So...
So
it
is
my
birthday.

I
forgot
my
own
birthday?
What?
Well,
I
guess
with
all
these
problems
I've
had
way
more
important
things
to
think
about.
It's
just
ridiculous
how
I've
forgotten
my
own
birthday
and
Jayce
somehow
knows
when it is. It seems
he's
got
a
better
hold
of
my
life
than
me.
Like
so
many
other
times,
I
find
myself
wondering
just
how
much
he
knows
about
me.
I would be worried
normally, terrified even, but
I'm too tired of worrying.

So
at
seven
o'clock
this
morning,
I
became
sixteen.
Sixteen!
I'm
supposed
to
be
mature
now.
And
sophisticated.
And
hot.
I
can
get
a
job.
No,
even
better;
I
can
drive
a
tractor!
Brilliant.
I'm
a
whole
year
older
than
I
was
yesterday…
and
yet
I
feel
exactly
the
same.

This
sucks.

I
turn
my
attention
back
to
him.
He's
saying
something
now,
slightly
tilting
his
head
to
the
left
as
though
questioning
something
trivial,
the
light tinting
his
hair
golden
as
a
few
strands
flicker
across
those
green
cauldrons
he
has
for
eyes.
His
thin,
pale
lips
keep
moving
and
cutting
dimples
into
his
almost
translucent
cheeks,
but
my
mind
is
still dusty
from sleep and
I
struggle
to
understand
at
first.

“
I
love
birthdays.
Don't
you
love
birthdays?
It's
the
day
of
the
year
when
people
just
give
you
presents
and
it's
better
than
Christmas
because
you
don't
have
to
give
any
back.
And
I
don't
know
about
you, but
I
love
getting
presents
without
having
to
give
any back. Wait,
does that
make
me
a
bad
person?
”

His eyebrows arch and his eyes flare up,
contemplating
this
for
a
second.
“
No,
”
he decides.
“
I'm not because if
I
were, then
I
wouldn't have got
you
a
present. And I've only given
a
few birthday presents before, so you had
better be very, very grateful! Come on!
”

With
that
he
grabs
both
my
hands
and
drags
me
out
of
the
bed,
in
turn
bringing
the
duvet
and
the
bed
sheet
along
on
the
adventure
too.

He's
bought
me
a
present?
Why?

So
apparently
it’s
my
birthday
and
a
psychotic
murderer
has
apparently
got
me
a
present.
This definitely happens to normal people.